Ash Garden
by District11-Olive
Summary: One shot written for Starvation's December 2013 writing challenge, prompt- "Plague". "They're my flowers, darling. My garden, I sometimes call it."


**A/N: It feels like it has been forever since I have written a one-shot. I have been searching around for inspiration and remembered that there are a few forums out there that put on writing challenges each month. This one is written for the Starvation Forum's December prompt, "Plague." Enjoy!**

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Ash Garden

I step out of the metal elevator, the short heels of my shoes making tiny clacking noises on the basement floor. Looking around I can see nothing spectacular. Not much other than a half dozen shelves filled with little stone containers, all of them inscribed with tiny text on the identical lids. My Granddad beckons me to him and I join him at the end of one aisle of shelves.

"What are they, Granddad?"

"They're my flowers, darling. My garden, I sometimes call it," he tells me, stroking one of the closest jars affectionately.

"But you have a garden, Granddad. In the courtyard."

"I do indeed. A garden of roses that I can never venture into, you know that don't you?" I do know that. Ever since last autumn Granddad has not been outside and neither have I. He tells me that he is afraid sometimes, but I'm not allowed to tell anyone else that. It's a secret, he says, but I think he just doesn't want anyone knowing he is scared of whatever he is hiding from.

I take a glance around the cold room. "This doesn't look like a garden."

"It's a special garden," he smiles and takes one of the stone jars off of the shelf.

"But where are the flowers, Granddad?" I ask.

He motions for my hand and I place it firmly in his. His hand is so much bigger than mine, and when he places the jar in my palm it nearly falls off. His arm jerks as he takes both my hands inside of his to form a sort of cup for the heavy stone. I wish I would have known how heavy it was before I almost allowed it to fall.

"These are the flowers, darling. Aren't they beautiful?" His eyes are shining as he stares at me, perhaps waiting for some kind of reaction. I don't know what he expects me to do. He tells me I am holding a flower but I only see an ugly rock. It is as if someone told you they were going to show you true beauty and lead you to an untended garden. I unlock my eyes from his and look back down at the container.

I realize that from this close I can read the writing I saw earlier on the lid. I squint my eyes and bring my face closer to the jar, examining the text with a careful eye.

_Calix Sloane, District Seven, 72__nd__ Hunger Games. _

I jerk my hands back so fast that the stone nearly topples over my Granddad's hands and onto the floor. He places the stone back on the shelf and kneels down in front of me, his eyes holding the smile that his lips cannot seem to. I take a step back, my heel squeaking against the floor and the sound echoing through the room until it finally fades to inaudible whispers.

"What are these...things?" I stammer.

"Ashes," he whispers, placing his hands on my shoulders and locking his eyes with mine once again. "They are the pieces of the tributes from every Hunger Games. They are my garden, darling, and someday they will be your masterpiece just as they are mine."

"Yes, Granddad," I nod, trying to keep my eyes steady so as not to show him my disdain.

"You will understand when you are older, Esme. I wanted to show you now so that you could meet my true love before things got too busy for me to do so. Like I already told you, someday these ashes will be everything you have to hold onto. You will use the power of what this room represents to crush anything that might someday oppose you. You will learn to use it to cure the doubt from the minds of Panem."

He takes my hand and begins to lead me back towards the elevator, pressing the buttons on the security pad so lightly that even I cannot tell which ones he has pushed. Even now, having shown me his most sacred belonging, he does not want me to share it just yet.

The elevator doors close and I am once again left in the bright lights with my Granddad. The man who has put so much trust in me to cure the doubt of his people, and yet cannot fully trust me. I hope someday that I will be able to make him proud. Using the secrets he has shown me in his secret garden, I can grow the cure to the plague that is the Mockingjay just as he has done so himself. Someday I will be the doctor that relieves the rebellious of their sickness, the disbelievers of their addictions, and the masses of their petty colds. The plague of rebellion will never touch either me or my family, as long as the ashes in his secret garden remain unbroken.


End file.
